


Aftermath

by Nighthaunting



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, bulveye is number one russ wrangler, russ loves his legion, some implied shippiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nighthaunting/pseuds/Nighthaunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bulveye knows never to leave Russ to himself after a sanction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

The sanction has been over for hours by the time Bulveye can be assured that his duties to his men are done and he can search out his King.

The Wolves do not build, there is nothing for them after a battle but dragging their wounded off the field and tending the corpses of their dead. On this unfortunate world they had been unleashed in full—a rarity, to be sure—and the destruction that has been wrought is terrible. They were not unopposed, and brothers have been lost in the doing of a deed that is only honorable for the purity of the kill. This world’s throat was slit with all the grace the Wolves could manage.

Bulveye knows that none of this pleases Russ, though, beyond the most hollow ring of duty fulfilled. The Emperor will not call them again for some time, if He is able. Russ will withdraw with his sons to Fenris. The dead will be mourned. They will emerge stronger than they were, and ready to take up the axe again, whenever the need next comes.

For now, though, Bulveye knows where he can find his King. Russ is in his own rooms, surrounded by dataslates. Bulveye knows his King is aware of his presence, but he is being ignored, so he eases the inner door shut silently and observes Russ for a few moments. There is a jug and cup set off to the side, and the presence of the fleet status reports mean that Gunn has already come and gone, likely chased away by his King’s ill humor.

“Have you come to scold me too?” Russ asks suddenly, looking up.

His eyes have always been startlingly intense; wolf gold, with a stare that had undone lesser men. Bulveye has wondered, at times, the kind of things Russ sees with those eyes. Other times, he doesn’t want to know. Other times, he wishes he didn’t know.

“Is it scolding to ask you to have a care for yourself?”

He rounds the low table spread with dataslates and sits beside Russ, carefully arranging them into piles and pushing them away before gently sliding the final slate out from under Russ’ hand. The data on display is exactly what Bulveye suspected it would be: casualty reports for the legion, the names of all the shield-brothers now sleeping on the red snow.

Russ sits back, sighing and rubbing at his eyes before leaning heavily against Bulveye’s side. Bulveye sets the dataslate aside, and bears his King’s weight.


End file.
